


Du Bekar!

by Melda_Burke



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Badass Dwarf Women, Battle of Five Armies - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Beorn is a dad, Bofur's Hat is a character all its own, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf shenanigans, Dwarf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Polyamory, Unless you count a little Dwarven pride then yeah RIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26578252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melda_Burke/pseuds/Melda_Burke
Summary: Accidents happen. Unfortunately for Thorin and Company, accidents tend to happen to them more often than your average person. Perhaps that's par for the course when one is on a quest to kill a dragon, but what would you know about such things? Although, considering they've accidentally kidnapped you, you're probably about to learn a heck of a lot more about quests, gold, the usefulness and resilience of hobbits, as well as the hearts and minds of dwarves.
Relationships: Dwalin/Thorin Oakenshield/Reader, Dáin Ironfoot/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Burgling A Beornling

“Daughter!” Beorn called into the dark cellar. “Retrieve a double portion. We have…guests.” He grunted and cast a look over his shoulder at the part of thirteen. When his eyes landed on Bombur he frowned. “Perhaps, make it a triple portion.”

A young woman stepped out of the shadows. She stood only to her supposed father’s thigh and wore a plain, blue dress that brushed against her bare feet as she walked. Her face was smudged here and there with dirt and she held two buckets of potatoes. She placed the buckets on the ground and curtseyed quickly. “I am Wren. It is a pleasure to meet you.

“Dwalin, Balin, Fili, Kili, Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Bifor, Bofur, Bombur, and Thorin at your service, mi’lady.” The dwarves said their names in turn and bowed quickly under the watchful eye of Beorn. 

She cocked her head to the side curiously. “And you, sir?” She asked of Gandalf.

“Gandalf the Grey, young lady.” He smiled kindly and inclined his head. He pulled Bilbo in front of him. “And this is Bilbo Baggins, forgive the lad his rudeness. He’s a bit shy.” Bilbo shot a strange look up at the wizard, but was ignored. “And what might your name be, if I should be so bold?”

She laughed. “Oh, I am no lady. Nor do I have a proper name, as I became Beorn’s ward while still an infant. But he does like to refer to me as his little wren, so if you must… Wren shall do.” She turned and addressed Beorn. “Father, while you were out, I checked with the bees and there will be honeycomb to go with breakfast.” With a promise of hotcakes with honey and jam, the young woman then bid them goodbye.

“Beorn, if I may, I had been under the impression-“

“What impression?” The shapechanger demanded.

Gandalf seemed at once both flustered and supremely interested. “Your daughter, I was not aware of her-“

Beorn crossed his arms. “Found her as a babe, abandoned in the forest. Family probably didn’t have enough to feed her or pay a dowry for a girl child. I have enough.” He said it matter-of-factly. “Raised her. Fed her. She is no shapechanger, but she is a good, obedient girl. A grateful girl. Cooks well.” He didn’t elaborate more on the subject and turned away to get back to caring for the animals. 

Gandalf took a moment’s hesitation and a pondering expression crossed his face. “Come, everyone, back inside.” He ushered them along and the dwarves wandered eagerly toward the mouth-watering smells emitting from that direction.

The pan on the wood stove was hissing as she poured freshly made batter in. She smiled welcomingly upon noticing their arrival. “Please forgive him his roughness. Father has gone through much; he is a survivor, but he has a kind heart. For your sake, though,” she bit her lip and sighed, “tread lightly. It is not a threat, merely a warning. He’s easily startled. Do not move quickly or even at all if he is not able to see you. Keep your voices low and calm. I do what I can to keep him happy, but preventative measures make my job much easier.”

Gandalf frowned and took a seat at the table. “Pardon my lapse in manners, but the woodsman mentioned he found you in the woods.”

“Yes, that is true. If you wish to know more, I’m afraid neither of us have any idea beyond that. It is presumable, however, that my family was amongst the poorest and couldn’t afford a girl.” She finished the first of many cakes and laid it on a platter to cool. “He’s given me a home. I’ve spent my life repaying his kindness.”

Gandalf glanced around the table, where the dwarves sat eyeing the growing stack of cakes. “And if we do, by chance, anger him?”

Her jaw tensed. “The only thing that might work is to immediately request a song. Music soothes him and may serve to distract him from wrath or tension. I’m sorry, but I cannot guarantee it will work. Sometimes…it has not and those times affect us both. I will try, though, if it is needed.”

“My lady, a final question; do orcs come through often?”

“Father keeps them at bay for the most part. They’ve learned to keep away from the house.” She pulled anxiously at the sleeve that covered her right arm. Gandalf saw her do this and his eyes narrowed. “They’ve grown more daring recently.” She lifted her gaze from her work and pinned him with a piercing stare. “But don’t worry if there is a group of them after you, you’ll be relatively safe until you leave our borders.”

Thorin then decided it was time for him to speak. “This place was empty when we took refuge here last night. Where were you then, if not here?”

She re-buttered the pan for a new batch. “I sleep under the overhang of the roof of our chicken coop on warmer nights to keep watch. As I mentioned, the vile creatures are becoming more aggressive, and they’ve ventured as close as the barn as recently as last week. Father patrols, but he can only do so much. I must keep my own vigil.” Again, she subconsciously rubbed at her arm, this time with more than a hint of fear in her eyes.

Gandalf settled back in his chair into silent musings, listening to her as she hummed to herself. His odd behavior had Bilbo wondering what could possibly be bothering their wizard. The matter puzzled him, but his mind was quickly turned from that as cakes were placed in front of him.  
  
Wren opened up a jar and slathered the cakes liberally with strawberry jam and soaked them with honey. The places had all been set by the time Beorn barged in holding a massive amphora of milk under one great arm. “Smells good. Thank you. Go on now, back to your chores.” He patted her head gently with his free hand. He waited until she was gone and eyed Thorin with a measure of caution and consideration. “So, you are the one they call Oakenshield.” He filled Thorin’s cup. “Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?”

“You know of Azog? How?”

“My people were the first to live in the mountains before the orcs came down from the north. The Defiler killed most of my family. But some he enslaved… not for work, you see, but for sport.” His expression was regretful and grim. “Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him.”

“There are others like you?” Bilbo asked in astonishment.

“Once, there were many.” He turned away, but not before the hobbit caught a fleeting glimpse of sorrow.

“A-and now?”

“And now there is only one.” He placed the milk container down heavily enough to slosh a bit on to the table. “You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn.

Gandalf took his pipe from his lips. “Before Durin’s Day falls, yes.”

“You are running out of time.”

“This is why we must go through Mirkwood.”

“A darkness lies upon that forest.” Beorn warned in an ominous tone. “Fell things creep beneath those trees.” He almost seemed to be making an attempt to talk Gandalf out of it. “There is an alliance between the orcs of Moria and the Necromancer of Dol Guldur. I would not venture there except in great need.”

“We will take the Elven road.” Gandalf assured him. “Their path is safe.”

“Safe?” He scoffed. “The wood elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. Less wise and more dangerous.” He met Thorin’s inquiring gaze. “But it matters not.”

“What do you mean?”

“These lands are crawling with orcs. Their numbers are growing and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive.” He stood again and began to pace the room slowly like an animal on the prowl. “I don’t like dwarves. They’re greedy and blind to the lives they deem lesser than their own, but orcs I hate more. What do you need?”

“A few ponies, perhaps. We’ll set them free once we reach the edge of the forest to return to you.” Gandalf requested this favor between puffs on his pipe. 

“Is that all?” Beorn replied in disbelief. “These orcs are Warg-riders. They can keep pace with even the swiftest of the ponies under my care.”

“Well,” Gandalf began. “Might there be any other protection you could offer? Perhaps you could follow along behind us for a time. The orcs, from what your well-spoken ward has implied, fear your justice upon them.”

Beorn contemplated this for a moment. “When I am changed, my mind changes with my body. There is only the one thing that may preserve you if I am to follow you to the edge of my lands.” The room was deadly silent as they waited for him to explain. “I do not make this decision lightly, but evil times call for sacrifice. I will allow my daughter to travel with your company as far as the first tree.” 

He leaned down so that his beard was nearly touching Gandalf’s forehead. “Her presence will keep you safe from my beast-shape, but I warn you, wizard.” He rose and glared down at Thorin. “And you, Dwarf.” He looked around the table, causing Bilbo to shrink down in his seat. “All of you. If she is harmed on the way or if you take her beyond the first tree, _I will hunt you down._ ” He growled deep in his throat. “I will hunt you all down and I will claw out your eyes. I will cut off your toes. I will make them into a stew and I will pour it down your throats until you drown in it.”

Gandalf held up a hand. “I swear a solemn oath your daughter will not be harmed. We would gladly send her home on the back of one of your ponies.” This seemed to satisfy Beorn to a point, but he stalked over to a corner and remained there in silence. For a time, the only sound was chewing.

“Father, my chores are finished! I’ve even mended the shirt you-“ Wren came bounding into the room with what looked like a massive cotton poke clenched in her hands. Her sleeves were rolled up and it was now plain to see that a number of thick, ropey scars were gouged out from the flesh just above her right elbow down to her wrist. She hastened to pull her sleeves back down, but it was too late. “I apologize, I forgot myself.” Her smile wavered slightly. “That sight must have put you off your breakfast.”

“May I ask how that happened?” The old wizard leaned forward and gestured at her with his pipe.

Beorn’s booming voice answered the question. “Orcs. Dared to come into the yard just as the sun went down and attacked her. I was not there, but my daughter is strong in her own ways and it was only two. They tried to slash the pitchfork from her hands, but she kept hold of it and caught one in the belly. The other fled, but the lesson was learned. I am proud. I do not see why she keeps the scars covered.” He seemed to be scolding her, but his eyes were soft and there was a smile playing with the edges of his lips.

A dark blush colored her from her neck to her ears. She pressed the shirt into Beorn’s massive hands, seemingly eager to escape the scrutiny of the company. “I-is there anything else you need today?”

His expression turned stony. “As soon as our guests have finished their meal, they will be preparing to head into Mirkwood. I have promised them safe passage.”

Her back straightened. “Of course, if that’s what you believe is best. How far am I to lead them?”

“No further than the first step into the forest.” He gave her a leather knapsack that had been sitting on the floor. “Pack yourself a meal and take care to wear something warm. The nights have been growing more chill as of late.”

Her eyes shone with excitement as she beamed up at him. “I’ll go brush down Pferda straight away!” 

Once the meal was finished and everyone had a hand in the cleaning up, Beorn stopped them before the door. “Remember my warning, Oakenshield.”

“I am nothing if not my word.” Thorin met the woodsman’s eyes without fear. He had nothing to fear in his mind, for he fully intended to make good on the oath the wizard had sworn.

When their escort returned, Bilbo took note that the young woman had, indeed, pulled on a few layers to make her attire more acceptable. In truth, she’d been rather underdressed previously in a manner that had bordered on scandalous in his eyes. She now looked less like a wild thing as she’d taken care to pull on a pair of woolen hose, slipped into a pair of turnshoes, and a linen chemise peeked just under the edge of her woad-dyed dress. She had a knitted shawl secured at her left shoulder by a wooden shawl pin, her hands were protected by a pair of sueded gloves, and she’d thrown on a brown cloak over everything. She’d slung a tiny pack, no bigger than was required to fit a lunch or so, over her shoulder and seemed quite eager to be off with them. “I almost never get to go anywhere.” She said to Bilbo in a mischievous whisper. “This is going to be a bit of an adventure for me!”

He frowned. “Believe you me, adventures are terribly uncomfortable. I wouldn’t recommend one. A walking holiday, though, is rather pleasant.”

She smiled widely. “Perhaps whenever it is that we meet again, we should take one together. I could show you around the fur traders’ town just north of here, and you might have a chat with some of the Stoorish hobbits there. I’ve never met any of them. They tend to spend most of their time floating around in boats or wading in that mucky, little river. I’m not terribly fond of water, so I don’t bother. But they do know how to fry up a fish, I’ll give them that.”

“A good fry-up is a hobbit specialty.” Bilbo replied with no small amount of pride.

“Well, the fried fish _is_ wonderful, but I must say I prefer their pickled smelt. It’s more… simple. Too much grease makes my stomach wibbly.”

“There is a great pleasure to be found in simplicity.” Bilbo sighed; his mind wandered back to his cozy hole, his warm bed, and his formerly well-stocked pantry. It would absolutely take _weeks_ of canning, peeling, ordering, and drying to return it to half its previous glory. Not to mention he’d have to have all that wonderful cheese made over again and he absolutely _despised_ the wait. Dwarves truly were a menace to one’s cupboard, and they were most certainly a woe unto their poor mothers. Who would envy being forced to feed such bottomless pits?

“Mister Bilbo?” Wren’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. “You will truly come back to have a walk with me, right? I’d rather you be candid.”

He gave her a kind smile. She didn’t know the danger of the quest that he’d involved himself in. He had no idea if he’d live or die, but making this promise to a fresh-faced woman with bright eyes gave him a light of hope. Even if that hope was only in returning to walk with her and enjoy the market in the next town over. “Of course, and I will greatly look forward to it.” After being in the company of such a gruffly mannered collection of oddball dwarves (though _mannered_ used in any sense was hardly a descriptor befitting Thorin and Co.), he was sure he’d delight in the company of someone whose sensibilities mirrored his own in a few ways.

The dwarves were re-supplied with food and given time to select their mounts. Or rather, as Beorn insisted, the ponies chose to whom they’d offer their back. With full bellies and invigorated hearts, they looked toward Mirkwood with all the bravery of naiveté. Wren rode in the middle of the procession, protected on all four sides; to her left was Balin, to her right was Dwalin, behind her rode Bilbo, and before her was Thorin. “I’ve never met a dwarf before.” She glanced around at her companions. “I have to say, though, I’m quite impressed with how you handled yourselves. My father has the type of presence that causes most men to start quaking in their boots.”

Balin chuckled. “Have you spent your entire life sequestered in that house?”

She shook her head. “I go to the market sometimes. We’re fairly self-sufficient, but I love to go to see the sights. I also do a few odd jobs for the elderly folk there to earn a little coin for books. I like to pass out our excess food to the poorer travelers in exchange for stories, songs, and poems.”

“Ah, you’re a scholar then?” The elderly dwarf teased.

“Far from it. I know a few things, but almost nothing about dwarves. Your people are reserved, although not without good reason, I suppose. Would you mind answering a few of my questions?” She played absently with Pferda’s mane, braiding it into some complicated decoration in a clear attempt to keep her hands busy.

“I don’t see the harm in it.” Thorin glanced over his shoulder at her. “What questions would you ask?”

“Well, your armor has writing on it, Mister Balin. Would you care to translate it for me?” She’d explained that she’d read snatches about dwarves, their language, and the ounce of culture they’d allowed the world to know. Scant was the information concerning their people. However, she’d apparently heard tell of elves who’d been gifted the opportunity to learn Khuzdul.  
  
“It is a traditional well-wishing amongst the Dwarves; ‘may your arm stay strong, and your will stronger.’” Balin informed her and, in a merry whisper said, “some might say Dwarves are known for being a bit-” he knocked on his forehead, “-hard-headed.”

“Rocks for brains, more like.” Muttered Gandalf.

“Are Dwarves truly the best blacksmiths in all of Arda?” 

This earned her a scoff from the wizard. “Don’t go filling their heads with thoughts of grandeur. Poor Bilbo and I shall be the ones to have to deal with the boasting long after you’ve taken your leave.”

“It isn’t boasting, Gandalf, it is the truth!” Dwalin patted her back fondly. From what Bilbo could tell, it was more of a hearty pounding than a real pat, but likely barely more than a love-tap from a dwarf’s perspective. “Lass, ye haven’t seen true craftsmanship untel ye’ve beheld true Dwarven craftsmanship!” He withdrew a short, steel knife and handed it over for her to inspect. The sheen of the metal rippled along the blade with the light. “See tha’? Folded a hundred times an’ honed to an edge tha’ could cut leather like warm butter.” She ran a finger along the decorative handle. “Dogwood-dyed leather, tha’ is.”

“Did you make it?” She handed it over.

“A’course! A man’s got tae make his own tools, ‘asn’t he nau?” Dwalin slid the blade back into its sheath. “Which reminds me, if we get tae Erebor, wha’ would ye say tae a lettle gardenin’ set, eh? It’ll be the first work out o’ the forges in honor o’ you and your father’s hospitality. Whet sae ye tae tha’, wee sēobeorn?”

She visibly paled and her words came out choked by shock. “E-erebor? _That’s_ where you lot are headed? You do know there’s a dragon that haunts those halls?” She halted her pony with a gentle tug on the mane. “That is suicide!”

“You don’t un’errstand, lass. This is a matter of revenge and honor.” Balin explained gently. 

“Did my father know your intended destination?” She sounded pained. Even Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, although the information hadn’t been intentionally kept from her, at least on his end it hadn’t been. “You…you’re all going to your deaths!”

“Oi, sweetling, enough o’ tha’.” Dwalin squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “Dahn’t ye worry ‘bout us.” She watched him with anxious eyes. “I promise ye we’ll return, an’ a dwarf’s word is his honor.”

“Would you send a message back? So I’ll know all of you made it?” She swallowed hard, and that made Bilbo feel all the worse for her. Obviously the poor thing never had the chance to see anyone outside of town. She’d clearly enjoyed having guests, regardless of how short their stay had been. The demise of her houseguests must have greatly unnerved her. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her; it greatly unnerved him as well! “Maybe, you’d consider coming back for a celebratory visit? Mister Baggins already promised he would, but a visit from all of you would be more enjoyable.”

“Well, now, yer just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Erebor. Why not?” Dwalin proposed. “Besides, a taste o’ yer cookin’ is reason enough tae drop in.” He grinned widely when she finally smiled in relief, her fears quelled for the moment. “Ah, there it is! Keep tha’ up, lass, yer bright as a spark when ye smile.”  
  
Bilbo frowned to himself as he continued to observe Dwalin’s interactions with the Beornling maid. In all the time he’d known him, the dwarf kept up a no-nonsense sort of air. Balin must have noted his confusion because a moment later, he saw the older Fundinson shooting him a smirk before pulling his pony around. “He’s always been a ladies’ dwarf.” He murmured with a sparkle in his eye. “Before the lad lost ‘is hair, anyway. Still enjoys the human lasses though, I believe it is because some dwarven maids are a little… harsher with their judgement.” At this he looked a tad saddened. “Hair is incredibly important to us dwarves, Master Bilbo.” And that was all he said on the matter before returning to his earlier post

The conversation soon turned to other, lighter subjects. Wren ended up sitting sideways on her mount to better address her newfound friends. Thorin she engaged little, but what they did speak of was haunted by a brooding shadow that never shifted from beneath his brow and ne’er did lift from his shoulders. The afternoon grew old and weary; the weakened light kept only the barest grip with fingers of peachy sunset stretching over the edges of distant hillocks. The dying day illuminated a distinct figure far behind; an impossibly massive bear was standing its hind legs and sniffing the air. 

The meadows of Rhovanion quickly gave way to a sparse thicket that bordered Mirkwood’s menacing, overgrown gate. Unkempt vines trailed like green worms; wriggling up and around the bases of the trees in an effort to breach the canopy. Everything was climbing and strangling everything else in a desperate bid for life and light. Even the sculptures marking the path were not free from blight. The place made Bilbo shiver involuntarily as he imagined what dark and foul things lurked there, just out of sight, waiting to snatch up any hapless wanderers.

The night was newly born and the moon had hardly crested the horizon when the baying of wolves echoed in the air. It resounded unnaturally and rang in their ears like peals of black bells. “Hurry! Our only chance is to reach the gate!” Gandalf urged his pony into a gallop and flew forth to head the line. Evil snarls from slavering jaws did not escape the notice of the ponies, which frightfully urged them forward without the leave of their riders.

Dwalin chose to pluck Wren from Pferda’s back in order to keep track of her, although doing so meant slowing his own steed down exponentially. “The pony can’t bear both of you at once and keep pace!” Balin shouted.

“Brother, I dunno ‘bout you, but I dahn’t feel exactly up tae drowning in a stew o’ me own body parts.” Dwalin replied, his voice full of vigor and good humor. “Hold on tae this.” He drew Grasper and shoved Keeper into her hands. “No time fer a lesson, just swing where ye can an’ aim fer the soft bits!”

Just as Balin had feared, Dwalin’s pony fell farther and farther behind. Sweat flattened the poor animal’s hair to its neck as it worked hard to keep beyond the snapping teeth that threatened its rump. Wren scowled; a foreign expression twisted her round face into something defiant and haughty as she hefted the axe in her work-calloused hands. It was heavy in ways she obviously wasn’t familiar with, but with life and limb on the line she tossed aside her discomfort. A warg dared to take a snap at the pony’s neck and she swiped down as hard as she could. It yelped and jumped away with blood gushing where its eye had once been. Half-blinded, it shucked its rider with a wild shake and sprinted away yowling. 

“HA! THERE YE GO!” Dwalin guffawed as he knocked a warg upside the skull and the reek of blood scented the air. Skull pieces and tufts of fur littered the ground where the grotesque thing fell.

Wren hauled Keeper up to angle another blow at a different wolf, but this one’s rider was a bit smarter than the others had been. He saw that she struggled with the weight of the axe and that her movements were slow. The orc grabbed her wrist to try to yank her off. Fortunately, her legs were strong and she squeezed her thighs together to keep herself in place, yet still he continued doing his damnedest to force her off. Dirty nails scrabbled for purchase on her skin, but she was slipping out of his grip bit by bit. “D-Dwalin, help!” She grunted.

He shifted his balance a bit and managed to hack off the orc’s arm. However, he wasn’t used to riding and he’d overestimated the weight necessary for the depth of the swing. He’d have rolled right off if she didn’t grab his belt and do her best to haul him back with all her might. She still wasn’t able to lift him, but it gave him enough leverage to right himself.

The wargs and orcs were closing in as Mirkwood forest lay a mere hundred yards ahead. Gandalf had already reached the edge of the path with Thorin and Bilbo at his heels. The ponies’ eyes were rolling back in their skulls as they bolted for safety. The air was filled with wild shrieks and enraged roars, but there was chaos in the east which undercut it all; the massive figure of Beorn ripping wargs and goblins alike to shreds. He’d trapped the vicious pack between him and the forest. The Orcs were not known to venture into Mirkwood often; their cowardice left them in terror of elven blades and other, more wretched creatures than themselves. They were left with few choices except retreat. Slowly, they fled back into the southern hills. Beorn took off after them with barking grunts.

Not all of them had given up the chase. A tiny grouping, at most there were twenty heads to count, pursued the Dwarves right up to Mirkwood’s borders and beyond. Dwalin, Wren, and Bombur were the final three to cross the threshold; however their attackers refused to be swayed by the potential dangers. They were bloodthirsty and crazed with a need for violence. By necessity, they rode deeper into the forest without heed to their oath, and everyone heaved a sigh of relief when the orcs finally seemed repelled by the thickening foliage.

Gandalf leaned heavily against a tree in order to wipe the sweat from his face. “This is where I must leave you now.” He informed them all. “I have some business that requires my urgent attention. I wish you all the best under these circumstances… and remember to never stray from the path. No matter how tempted you may be.” His parting words hung ominously in the stuffy air of the dense woodland. 

Balin helped Wren down while the other Dwarves dismounted. Bilbo mopped his brow with the edge of his travelling cloak. “But, Gandalf, what about-“The dandy hobbit gasped quietly. “He’s gone already!”

“Wizards come and go when they please.” Thorin replied flippantly. “But to leave us like this…” He added in a grumble. His eyes flew to the girl. “We’re far and beyond the first tree, yet we cannot risk sending an unarmed woman out with only a team of bedraggled, exhausted ponies for protection. She’ll have to come with us. Gandalf could have taken her back, but I suppose the _urgency_ of his business clouded his reason.”

“Did ye leave yer good sense behind ya?” Dwalin snapped. “We can’t take her! She could barely hold up Keeper tae defend ‘erself. Send her back tae the life she belongs to ‘afore her da makes good on his threats.”

“Hold on a moment.” She stepped between the two scowling Dwarven lords. “My father threatened you?” She shook her head clear of the notion of her father threatening guests in his hall. She’d have to have a discussion about hospitality with him. “Regardless of what he might have said, I’m sure he won’t hurt you as long as I’m in your company.”   
  
She then whirled to face Dwalin. “As for you, what happened to cheering me on back there, Mister Dwalin?” She was caught up in her temper as color bloomed over her cheeks. “All of a sudden, you don’t think I can handle myself? I pulled your arse back on your damned pony after you tipped like a kettle! Now, f you would be so kind,” she huffed crossly, “I shall need a dagger or knife if any of you can spare one. I can handle _that_ , at least.” She shoved Keeper back into Dwalin’s hands and snagged Thorin’s offered dagger with a mumbled ‘thank you’. She cut the twine rope that had served as a kind of reins on each of the ponies, unloaded them, and sent them on their way with a pat to the rump. 

“Wha’ the _hell_ was tha’ about?” Dori swore. “When did tha’ lass’s peaches and cream turn so sour?!”

Wren heard him and scoffed. “I’m not entirely the sweet farm girl I play to be around my father. I acted that way because it’s a comfort to him and I love him more than anything.”

“So ye done lied tae us, is tha’s wha’s goin’ on ‘ere?” Dwalin narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth.  
  
“Aye! Aye, I lied. I lie all the time, sir.” She spat back with as much vitriol as she could muster. “But at least I don’t act like I believe in a body one minute, then get all huffy the next.”

“Tis different!” He insisted. “Have ye seen a real orc army, lass?” He demanded in a growl, and then sighed when she angrily looked away. “Aye, tha’s what I thought. An’ it ain’t just tha’ neither; we gave our word tae yer da. Would ye have us be oathbreakers? An’ ain’t it enough tha’ I vote we trust ye enough tae find yer way back? Is tha’ no vote o’ confidence at all?”  
  
Her hands balled into fists at her sides as she glowered at him. Her being a rather short-statured Mannish lady meant she didn’t have to look up at him, but rather kept her gaze level with his. “That’s enough!” Thorin stepped between the two, one hand on her shoulder and the other on his cousin’s chest. “My decision is to take the lass with us. We’ll keep ‘er safe as long as we may, an’ then once we cross close to some town or another, we will put her up at an inn there until we’ve taken Erebor. I’ll lead her back afterward myself, and hope that Beorn might be understanding of the situation.” Such was the final word on the matter.

Bilbo, however, was a fretting mess. “Oh dear, we’ve done it now!” He murmured to himself as he scrambled a bit behind the others. “We’ve burgled a Beornling, and it’ll be our hides, I just know it!”


	2. The Magic In A Lie

With nothing left to do or say, the strange, ragtag company set forth into the depths of Mirkwood. Hours melted away in silence, but it could have merely been a minute. Time was tricky in the land known formerly as Greenwood the Great. The only way to tell night from day was the slight change in the degree of how dim the forest was. Many times, they thought they caught glimpses of fairy lights and camp fires off the paths, but never strayed after them. Perhaps they were only wil o’ wisps and perhaps they were truly elven fires, but either way it was unwise to chase after them. The sense of eyes peering at them from the shade made everyone’s skin crawl like millions of tiny ants were marching over their backs.

The fire that night cast more shadows than light and, though it did its best to be a cheerful flame, the dwarves were no more heartened than a funeral procession. You kept to yourself, your heart burdened by wishes for the comfort of home and hearth. The cold set you to shivering as fog lay low, settling on everyone in shining, freezing beads.  
  
“I’m going to be frank.” Nori spoke up with a glare in your direction. “I don’t like this one bit. Now we’ll ‘ave her father itchin’ tae bite our heads off.” His accent grew thicker as his disdain boiled.

“And I didn’t enjoy being carried off to be stuck with a carbuncle like yourself, but we all have to cut our coats from the cloth we’re given.” You speared him with a scowl from where you’d huddled up by the fire. Your cloak was thick, but it wasn’t doing a good enough job to keep out the chill. “You didn’t seem to mind me so much when you had my food in your stomach.” You were feeling waspish from the cold, although admittedly it was not simply the freezing air but also the chilly attitude the others possessed.

“Never mind him, lass.” Balin pulled you closer to his side. “Nori, apologize to the girl.”

“Nae, I won’t.” He spat in a venomous voice. “She ought to go back where she belongs. Maybe take the hobbit with ‘er.”

“N-now Nori, you’re simply a bit on edge… we all are. The best solution is to settle down, have a bite to eat, and try to rest.” Bilbo pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Thorin nodded in agreement with the hobbit’s plan and asked Bombur to start on supper.

Bofur took first watch, as appointed by Thorin, and Nori volunteered for second. As an offer of an olive branch, you tried to offer to take second in Nori’s stead, but he only scowled in reply. To make matters worse, Nori’s generally sour attitude had worsened that of the others. Many of them were glaring at you or snapping at each other; Gloin even started an argument with Oin over punky firewood. It didn’t help anyone’s mood to know the meal that night would be hunks of pemmican and wayfarer’s biscuit. Poor Bombur, whose talent as a cook surpassed your own expertise, couldn’t transform such a humble meal into much more than a placeholder in the stomach.

Though it was a struggle, you held your tongue and dealt with your discontentment by staring listlessly into the fire. There wasn’t even a spare bedroll for you, and it was clear you’d be in for a miserable night shivering by the coals of the campfire. You sat hunched up, hair damp from the heavy fog, looking for all of the world like a little drowned mouse.  
  
When one of the dwarves approached, it took you a moment to notice because you’d been wallowing too deeply in your despair. A tap on the hand caught your attention; upon glancing up, you found Bofur holding out his bed roll. He gave you a sweet smile. “Sorry we gave you a hard time today. Peace offering?”

Immediately, you caught him up in a tight hug. Bofur’s cheeky smile grew until he was beaming and his eyes were twinkling. Unbeknownst to either of you, Dwalin sat staring from across the fire. His grip on his bedroll nearly ripped his own blanket in twain as an unreadable emotion gathered like storm clouds beneath his thick brows.  
  
The embrace was a brief one and Bofur drew back to lay out the bedding for you. “Thank you. You’re wonderfully generous, I certainly appreciate the gesture.”

“A pleasure to be at your service, ma’am.” He gave an exaggerated bow meant to make you giggle.

In return, you tugged playfully on his hat flap. “Goodnight, then.”

“G’night.” He winked.

“Shuddup, both o’ ye. People’re tryin’ tae sleep!” Gloin griped. He muttered something else unintelligible before turning over with a grumble.

Bofur chuckled quietly into his hand before edging around the mine field of bedrolls to reach his lookout point at the roots of a knotted, half-dead birch. A shower of peeling bark fell on him as soon as he sat down and he looked back at you with the most exasperated expression you’d ever seen. You stifled your giggles with a handful of your cloak as he fastidiously brushed it all away. The cheer and sense of safety he radiated lulled your tired mind, and if you could speak of favorites already, then he was your choice.

You closed your eyes and, despite the rock currently digging into your hip, you felt the comforting warmth of a coal of hope. After all, you just had to make it through this be-damned forest and to the nearest town. Your journey home would take longer than the trip over because none dared traverse the elven path or the old forest road these days, except mad fools who hadn’t the patience to go around. All the same, you’d get home within a couple of months (factoring in the longest of delays, of course) and you wouldn’t have to worry much about wargs or orcs or trolls or…or dragons…

You huddled up tighter until you were a mere ball of blanket with your eyes barely peeking over the edge of the worsted cloth. Gods, you hated this forest more than ever. To your great misfortune, you’d also been allotted companions who doubtlessly resented your presence amongst them. Why, you weren’t terribly convinced that, if not for their oath to your father, most of them would have let you become food for the wargs. Bofur and Bilbo were seemingly alone in their respectable treatment of you. Even Dwalin, whom you’d first believed to be fond of you, had rejected you. What was this entire situation, anyway? Downright depressing, that’s what it was.

You knew you should get to sleep, but thoughts continued to swirl like a cyclone in your head. As your exhaustion grew, the disorganization did as well. Eventually you fell into dreams filled with shapeless, nameless fears, bouncing dwarves, and marching armies of hobbits armed with fish.

Pain woke you hours later and when the initial grogginess cleared, you realized the tight, pinching sensation spanning your head was due to being wrenched from your borrowed bed by the hair. Caught unawares, your attempts to struggle were futile. “Never would have pinned ya as a thief, girl.” It was Gloin who bore you aloft, snarling at you like a rabid dog.

“Gloin?” You gasped in shock. “What is this about? Ouch! PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!” You shouted in his face and tried to kick him, but flailing was useless. A few of the others were woken by the commotion; Dwalin leaped to his feet brandishing a knife, Bofur shot up from his watch by the tree roots, and Balin shuffled to his feet with a weary mumble. Fili and Kili’s heads, too, popped up from their bedrolls with mirrored expressions of confusion.

“Where is it?” He shook you wildly. “Give it back!”

“Give _what_ back?” You tried to smash your elbow into his nose to get him to release you, but you might as well have been elbowing a brick wall.

“Gloin, put the girl down!” Thorin bellowed. “We gave our word-“

“This wench is a thief.” Gloin accused as he flung you to the sodden ground. “My son Gimli gave me a ring, silver with a damsher-cut ruby, before I left on this accursed quest. I’ve had it every step of the way and now…” He advanced on you, growling and with his hands fisted at his sides, before he was stopped by his brother Oin. “It’s a bit o’ a coincidence the first day you’re with us tha’ it turns up missing, isn’t it? Not a very smart move.”

“Now, Gloin.” Balin said in a calm voice. “There’s no proof the girl took it.”

“Search her and ye’ll find yer proof.” Gloin snatched your satchel off the ground and emptied it. “She’s said ‘erself she’s a liar, dinnae she? Well, it ain’t much o’ a leap from liar tae thief, ye know.”

“Gloin, really, this isn’t a civilized way to treat anyone, even if she were a thief.” Bilbo protested and you were thankful to have someone, even the smallest someone, on your side. Bombur seemed to feel the same. He went so far as to help you up, and stood in front of you with his arms crossed over his sizable stomach. Bilbo patted the back of your leg as a comforting gesture while Gloin continued to rant and rave.

Meanwhile, Bofur, too, had joined your small support group. He was silent until there came a break in the shouting, and then he chose to say his own piece. “When I was on watch she didn’t move from her spot. _If_ she stole anything it would’ve been Nori who saw it since he had the watch after me. Why haven’t we asked him what happened?”

All eyes turned to Nori for an explanation. You could tell from the way his eyes drifted to stare off to the right that he was preparing a lie; what poor tells he had! Were the others too blind to notice? You should have believed in your father’s distrust of this party and been more careful, but hindsight was always perfect. What would they do to you if they decided you were guilty?

“Yeah, I saw ‘er get up.” The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue, inspiring within you a burning desire to rip it from his mouth. “Thought she’d gone off for a piss or somethin’, but she came ‘round to Gloin and stuck her hand in his pack.”

“Well, I suppose that settles it.” Balin sighed, but cast a sympathetic glance your way. “Lass, get your things.”

“And _only_ what’s yours.” Gloin added smugly.

“Hey, hold up just a minute.” Bofur stepped forward to stop you from reaching for your bag. “Why wouldn’t ya have said anything straight off when ya saw her do it, eh?” He eyed Nori with suspicion. “And why would the lass only search _Gloin_ ’s pack? The rest o’ us all have money pouches and a few valuable pieces, too. Why wouldn’t she have just picked through everything?” He strode over to Nori’s travel bag and hauled it up. “I say we search _yer_ pack, Nori.”

“Those are good questions, Bofur.” Thorin spun on his heel and set his piercing gaze on his fellow dwarf. “I’m sure Nori wouldn’t be opposed to answering them for us.” He gave his approval for Bofur to open up Nori’s pack and, sure enough, the ring was found nestled into one of the smaller pockets under several other odds and ends.

Dori turned a nasty shade of eggplant-purple from a mix of embarrassment, shame and anger at his younger brother’s misdeeds. He grabbed Nori by the collar. “What in the void is wrong with ya?! By Mahal, our mother raised ya better, I know she did!”

“Well Nori, what’s your excuse for framing the girl?” Balin asked expectantly. He was a gentle soul, but his eyes were hard as flint now.

It took a few moments of Dori’s reprimands and Balin’s calm stare for Nori to finally speak. “I wanted ‘er gone. Figured if you all thought she was out tae steal, you’d turn her out.”

“You do realize how awful that is, don’t you? Gloin might’ve hurt her!” Ori knocked Nori upside the head with a solid ‘thunk’. “I’m mighty sorry, Miss Wren. He were dropped on the head-”

“-No, I weren’t!”  
  
“-several times.” Bofur snickered.  
  
“Aye! He bounced!” Fili and Kili merrily agreed.  
  
“Nae, ‘twas more like drop-kicked ‘cross the room.” Dwalin snorted and gave you a nod. “But we all acted thick in believin’ Nori first, I admit it.”

“Right then. Nori, you owe this girl a sincere apology. That was a serious accusation you leveled at her.” Balin rested his arm around your waist (bless him, he was too short to reach your shoulders) in a fatherly, protective manner. “I’d have intended to go ahead on with her as an escort if you others decided to abandon her. Not that I believe my brother wouldn’t do the same,” he added at Dwalin’s frown, “if he weren’t pledged to Thorin’s side.”

Nori however, flatly refused. “She doesn’t belong here. A homebody like her has got less o’ a place with us than the hobbit does. She has more skill shoveling horse apples than she does wielding a blade. If I had my way, we’d have sent her back with the ponies.”

You seethed and simmered as you were forced to listen to his complaints. Your dignity had been injured and your character questioned, was that not insult enough? Struggling out of Balin’s gentle grip, you stormed away in the opposite direction. “If that’s what you want so badly, I’ll go on back.” You hissed at the thief. “If I get eaten by wolves, at least I won’t have to put up with ungrateful, piggish, lying brutes like you!”

You knew they all expected you to walk off your outburst before circling back, but when you didn’t return within the hour, you hoped they’d received the message. It was cold here in the forest though, and without your companions there was an eerie, dead silence. Silence was not to be trusted in nature, anyone with half a brain knew that. Typically, it meant there was a predator nearby, but to you this entire forest felt to be plotting to prey on you. In any normal forest, you’d have felt perfectly at home. However this was obviously no normal forest, and you sensed dark magics were afoot here.  
  
No matter. You trusted your instincts even here, and there was no foul trickery which could fool a Beornling! A Beornling was a woodsperson through and through; you knew your meadows and glens and deer paths as well as any dwarf knew their mountain keeps. Still though, you did wonder why it seemed to you that the path curved in odd ways you hadn’t noticed before. Was it because you were paying more attention to your feet now, instead of bickering with granite-brained miners? Or perhaps it was something more sinister.

And truly, you weren’t a Beornling by blood. You had very few of your father’s natural gifts, although you’d worked incredibly hard to master those few. Your father could have sniffed out Mirkwood’s treachery without a thought, while you were simply lucky enough to not be coaxed off the true elven path by tempting by-ways appearing suddenly out of the mist. “Not today. You’ll not be taking me for a ride today, Master Forest. Behave!” You barked at the trees around you, and that seemed to rouse them enough to cease their games… for the time being.  
  
Not the first time during the past hour did you curse as a root seemed to stretch out to cause you to stumble. “Now you are outright bullying! Would you like to be timber, you chewy little shoots? Or perhaps firewood? I do think I might want for a fire soon! It’s awfully brisk out here.” Your threats again quelled their ill-intended mischief, but soon enough the forest was back at it. Each respite was growing shorter too, as if it were beginning to disbelieve that a young woman, even one with a few natural, secret magics of a Beornling at her command, could hold her own against the forest for long.  
  
And it was true, as much as you detested the idea of admitting it even to yourself. You stood now before a fork in the road, which you knew was an impossibility because you kept your memory honed sharp as your father’s axe. Yet, both paths were identical in every way! Even when you dropped to your knees, you found footprints of dwarven boots dug into the packed dirt. You slammed your fist against the ground with a snarl of frustration. “I never would have thought I’d be so close to arson in my life!” You growled under your breath, and then pushed yourself to your feet.

Okay, focus. Focus on the breeze. This forest couldn’t control the wind. If the breeze were stronger down one path than the other, then it was a good guess that path was the correct one. But standing in front of each, you realized the air was still. Still and laden with that maddening weight of silence, which raised the hairs, not just upon the nape of your neck, but _everywhere_ on your person. “Alright then.” You decided with a determined shake of your head. “If I’m right, great! If I’m not… well, every being has its time. Death holds no sway over me, it is natural.”

It didn’t mean you _wanted_ to die, but at least it would have been under something of your own terms. “I choose… riiii-...” And then you skittered swiftly to the left. “AHAHA! YOU THOUGHT I WAS GOING RIGHT, DIDN’T YOU? YOU ROTTEN BUNCH OF TERMITE-GNAWED, ROTTED STUMPS!” You crowed triumphantly-  
  
Well, it was a triumphant noise until you heard the warning growl of a warg, anyway. “Aw, horse apples.”  
  


***

  
Thorin stood and peered down the shadowy path to try to make out any sign of Wren. “Gloin, Oin, Bilbo and Bombur, you should keep watch here. The rest of you will go with me. We can’t let her come to harm. We must keep _that_ promise, at least.”

Dori poked his middle brother sharply in the ribs. “Up! And you **_will_ **apologize to the girl when we track her down.” Nori grumbled under his breath, but a terse glower from Dori made him shut his trap.

She had a good head start, and it was a dim morning outside the glow of the firelight. A howl farther down the muddy road put their hearts and legs to quicker paces. They had a tougher time than she did, but had less qualms about making good on chopping away any roots that might sneak into their path. Fair, too, was it that the influence of evil had less of a grip on a dwarven heart or mind than a Mannish one; most of them being simply too stubborn for that nonsense. They hastened down the path, their iron wills unyielding to the witchcraft tainting Mirkwood.  
  
After a great time spent backtracking, they finally found her on the ground and cornered against a tree by a warg with a dead Orc still in its saddle. She had her hands on a stick with the aim of tactfully jabbing it into its soft palate. Each time it opened its mouth to take a snap at her, she went in for a swift strike. The dwarves had only just made it to her side when it clamped its teeth around the end of the stick, putting an end to her weapon by cracking it in half.

A throwing axe thwacked the ground only a centimeter from its paw. The beast yelped in surprise and flinched back, but refused to relinquish easy prey without a fight. Wren took advantage of the surprise by jamming the remains of the stick up its nostril, then dashing aside. Sharp canines were inches from her legs; flecks of its spittle hit her skin as she ran. 

Thankfully, the party of dwarves had different plans than allowing her to become the warg’s next meal. Fili’s twin falchions were in his hands and he laughed aloud as he fought to cut the thick hide, even as its claws came close to ripping his head off. Kili, in turn, swung and hacked off the paw that had nearly decapitated his brother. The pair danced around the warg, obviously having a bit of fun with the fight.

“Just kill it and be done or I’ll do it myself.” Dwalin groused as he grabbed hold of Wren and flung her behind him. She landed roughly on the ground, but she didn’t appear to mind that so much as she clearly cared about _nearly dying_ . She tried to find purchase in the mud to push herself to her feet and see what was happening. Dwalin cursed the brothers’ careless zeal, and drew his axe from his back. He shouldered Kili out of the way in time for the prince to be saved from the wounded warg’s next vicious attack. It bit down on his own forearm instead, causing him to drop his axe.  
  
Thorin lunged to save his old friend, but there was no need. He dug his fingers into the warg’s upper jaw, while pushing his bitten arm down so that its maw was forced wide. The crack of bone and snap of muscle giving way in his grip was exhilarating for the seasoned warrior. His attention happened to wander in Wren’s direction, only to find her eyes were glued to the blood running in thick rivulets from his wounds.  
  
“Dwalin…” She’d tried to yell it, but her voice was a strangled mockery of a scream.  
  
“Hush up, it’s nuthin’!” He growled through gritted teeth. Brave words for a dwarf who still technically had his hand halfway down a warg’s throat, but it was true enough. He’d had enough injuries to know the serious from the superficial.

The warg was still alive, but its lower jaw was hanging by only skin and it was bleeding heavily from the stump that had once been its left paw. It was finished when Dori plucked one of Nori’s knives and threw it to Dwalin. He caught the weapon with his good hand and slashed open the monster’s throat as easily as opening a letter. The body fell to the ground twitching and gurgling as its blood watered the forest floor.

“I suppose we should tell Bombur we caught dinner.” Which was Kili’s snarky response to the entire affair.

Balin stooped to help Wren to her feet. “Oh, lassie, yer covered in muck.” He wiped the mud from around her wild eyes as he tutted at her. Dwalin marched up to them with a sneer on his lips. Drenched in blood, both his own and not, he was a terrifying sight rather he meant to be or not.

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her a bit. “Don’t ye _dare_ do sumthin’ so foolhardy again. D’ye understand?!”

She was wordless and seemingly deaf to his ranting. She wasn’t looking him in the eyes now, but was still hyper-focused on the blood flowing from his injured arm. “Brother, I don’t think this is the time. Look at her.” Balin suggested urgently.

“I _am_ lookin’ at ‘er. I’m looking at a ridiculous, overly sensitive –“ He paused and noticed the tears streaming down her cheeks. Immediately, he released her and retreated a few steps.

“I-I’m so… I’m… I…” She stuttered and choked a little, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut. “I’m so sorry.” She squeaked through it, though the words were muffled and shaky. “I was being stupid! I shouldn’t have… and then the _trees_ … and… and this damn fog-“

Dori shoved his elbow into Nori’s side. “No, it’s my fault.” Nori gave a begrudging sigh. “I chased ya off. My apologies.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I still shouldn’t have popped off! I’m sorry… I’m not… I don’t really have the best… c-control of my temper. Now Dwalin’s hurt a-and…” She sniffled and rubbed at her tears, but that did nothing to help. It ended up streaking her face with yet more mud, as well as a few specks of blood and putrid, warg saliva.

“Hurt?” Dwalin scoffed. “Bah!” He showed her the marks. “Barely punched through the skin. It was too weak tae gimme a proper bite, thanks tae our reckless princes.” His tone was biting as he shouted over his shoulder at them, but he wasn’t all that upset in truth. “Oin’ll stitch me up, no need tae fuss.”

“We’ll finish dressing the body up when we get back to camp.” Thorin added as he knelt down to begin gutting the thing. “Warg doesn’t make good eating, but it’ll have to do.” Once the innards had been discarded, the body was hoisted onto Bofur, Bifur, Thorin, and Balin’s shoulders.  
  
On the trek back to camp, Dwalin chose to guard her. She was jittery, and constantly shooting his arm fearful looks. Whenever he caught her, her eyes would widen to the size of saucers and dart away. She refused to leave his side when they reached their camp, and hovered nearby, and refused to leave even whilst Oin tended to the bite.  
  
A single stitch was all that was necessary for a larger, deeper gouge caused by one of the monster’s canines, but she looked ready to burst into tears over it again. For all her worrying, it was clear to everyone that he’d be fine. “Yer makin’ yerself sick o’er a nip, lass.” He sighed heavily.  
  
Another little shudder wracked her body, and she whimpered out a quiet couple of words. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Ach, dahn’t be.” He waved it off dismissively. “Tweren’t yer fault.”

Balin, on her other side, was doing his best to look after her. He’d already taken a clean rag to daub away the mud that had caked most of her face. Her dress, however, was a lost cause. She’d torn it when she fell and it was ripped all the way to her thigh, which wouldn’t do her any favors in cold weather. He’d pressed a pair of spare trousers donated by Bofur and a tunic offered by Thorin into her hands. The company shielded their eyes while she wiggled the pants up to her hips and pulled the remains of her old dress over her head. When she was decent, she tucked her knees up and took silent vigil by Dwalin’s side. 

“ _I’m fine_ .” He captured her hands in both of his. She apologized again for what must have the twentieth time and he let out a long-suffering groan. “ Ye know wha’? I’m… sorry for tryin’ tae convince ye tae go back on yer own b’fore.” She gave him a reproachful look. “T’ain’t like I think ye can’t handle an orc or two. It’s tha’ I don’t think yer ready for _more_ than two, ya understand? Orcs are like cockroaches; where there’s one, there’s bound tae be a hundred more. There’ll be more orcs on this mission and a dragon, too. I don’t want tae see anyone git themselves killed”

“I know, I know… you tried to explain that to me already, but I was feeling too worked up to listen.” She fussed with his bandages until Oin reached over to lightly swat her fingers. She pulled her hands away with a meek smile. “You were obviously trying to do what you felt was best, but I’ve always had a temper. It still gets the best of me, sometimes.” He raised a brow at that, and she let out a self-conscious chuckle. “Okay, a lot of the time.”

“Ye’ve just got a bit of fire in ya.” He grinned and laid his hand over hers. The calluses on the pads of his fingers were hard and rough as grit compared to hers, but it was a warm and heartfelt move on his part. It gave him some solace to know she was safe again. “Are ye ready tae tell me why yer so worked up over a bite?”  
  
She tensed up again, gripping his hand so tight as to turn her knuckles white, and then she touched the tunic’s baggy sleeve. “I know my father is proud of me for this.” She pushed the material to study the silvery keloids and furrows dug into her flesh. “But when I reflect on it, I’m not so sure. I didn’t feel brave… I was terrified. I’ve never been afraid to die, but I was scared doing so would mean an end to my home and all my father has cared to build. I was horrified at the idea of disappointing him that way. He has no natural-born sons to protect his lands… I’m not sure he ever will, unless he learns to grow warmer toward other people.” Her jaw tensed. “I am not a skin-changer. I don’t have the strength of body, nor the magics which run in his veins. I haven’t even a name by Mannish law… not that I care overly much for the laws of Men, but still.”  
  
“An’ seein’ me bitten brought all o’ that back, eh?” He rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully. “I think I catch yer meanin’. Did he ever once say he wished fer a son?”  
  
“Everyone wishes for a son. It’s why I was given up. If I had been a boy-”

“Dwarves wish fer children. Boy or girl, it matters little.” He interrupted. “An’ if ye saw the way he spoke o’ ye tae all o’ us, ye might see he’s of the same mind.”  
  
This made her go quiet, but after a few moments she relaxed and nodded. “Thank you.” She gifted him with a warm smile that made his chest tighten up in an odd fashion. “You say dwarves wish for boy _and_ girl children?”  
  
“Aye. We dahn’t breed easy, lass. We ain’t got the luxury tae be picky wit’ our heirs, an’ dwarven women are much harder tae come by than dwarf men. Nor do we presume tae bother ourselves wit’ forcin’ lords or ladies t’gether like Men are wont tae do. New blood in a line keeps the flesh strong, an’ we can’t afford weakness or frailty on the mere notion o’ keepin’ bloodlines solely royal or lordly. If a Son of Durin marries a dam o’ humble birth, her children would be sons and daughters of the line as well -not thought lesser due tae the dam.” 

“That sounds lovely.” 

“Aye.” His lips quirked up at the corners. “Lass, tell me another thing.”

“Of course, go on.”  
  
“Why the lyin’?” He took a pipe from his pack, scraped it free of resin and old pipe-weed, and proceeded to pack it while she watched. “Ye kept it up long after yer da were outta earshot.”  
  
“I am an excellent liar, Dwalin.” She smirked at him. “In fact, I dare say it’s my most valuable, well-practiced skill. Speechcraft of all kinds, actually, if you believe it. I even know a bit of-” She grinned at him and signaled to him in Iglishmêk ‘this!’.  
  
“Where on Eru’s green earth did ye-”  
  


“Never you mind, Mister Dwarf. I deserve to have a few secrets!” She giggled. “As for the meat of your question… I don’t know why, exactly.” She shrugged. “When I was young, it started out as a way to keep people safe. _Father’s_ temper is far more impressive, mind you. But sometimes I lie to people to see how they’ll react. Other times, I’ll lie to get something I want. I know it’s wrong, I had a sore seat often enough as a girl to understand that by now, but it’s fun. And, if you do it right, wielding a lie can garner you truths you hadn’t expected to come from a conversation.”

“Hm… mayhaps yer right, but what entertainment can be drawn from a falsehood?” 

“Well, for one thing, I can do magic.” She gave him a grin.

“Like a wizard?!” Kili piped up. 

“Let’s see some magic! Gandalf never shows us any when we ask.” Fili sat bolt upright with a massive grin. “Can ye make Ori disappear, maybe?”  
  
“Oh, I can’t do anything as grand as Gandalf could.” She purred and winked. “But I _can_ make a whole bowlful of stew disappear quick as a blink.” She earned herself a few chuckles with that one, and a ghost of a smile from Thorin, too, miracle of miracles. “Magic is a lie of the body.” She stood up and held out her hand for the half-finished turtle Bifur had been whittling. Displaying it in her palm, she passed her hand around in front of them all to see. “And yet, it has its truths as well.”  
  
Slowly, she swirled her hand in a circle above the wooden trinket. “There are rules one can’t change, but a myriad more you may certainly bend-”There was a sparkle of laughter in her eyes as she suddenly slapped her hovering hand down. “-and still others have loopholes a mile wide.” And then she opened her hands with a twiddle of her fingers to show that the turtle had completely disappeared.  
  
Amidst the claps, a voice cut through to her. “It’s up yer sleeve.”  
  
She raised a brow at Nori. “Is it now?” There was a bit of a sharpness in the way she spoke to him, not entirely undeserved Dwalin knew. “Are you sure?”  
  
“Everyone knows that little trick. A bairn could do it.” He scoffed.

She smiled and tugged at the sleeves of her tunic. “There’d certainly be room for it, wouldn’t there?” She lifted her arm to show a whole three inches width of fabric hanging down. “Thorin, you know what they say about dwarves with big arms?”

Their king chuckled to himself. “No, I do not, songbird.”  
  
Her little mouth stretched wide over white teeth. “They wield mighty hammers!” A hearty round of laughter followed suit, to which she dramatically bowed. Bifur started signing quickly at her, and she frowned. “Would you mind going a bit slower, please? I only know a few of those- Oh! Yes, your turtle. I’m sorry, I’d almost forgotten.” Picking her way across the campfire, she didn’t directly go to Bifur to everyone’s confusion. Instead, she went straight for Bofu and picked up his hat. She dug through it for a moment, and then made a victorious sound as she withdrew the tiny turtle to surrender back to its creator.  
  
“Could you teach _us_ to do some of that?” Fili bounded over to her.

“Yeah! Teach us!”

“If you wanted cheap tricks to fool the fool, you could have asked me.” Nori huffed.

“Shut up, you!” Dori cuffed his brother in the shoulder. “Must ye be antagonistic tae the lass?”

“Nori…” Wren huffed, and although there was an ember of enmity in her robin’s egg eyes, she gritted her teeth. “Look, I know you don’t want me here. And, as much as I’m starting to like all of you, _I_ don’t wish to be here either. See, I admire how you’re sticking to your opinion, especially when it’s no longer the popular one.” She offered a hand to him. “I respect that, and…” She leaned in with a bit of a smile. “You were right, it _was_ up my sleeve. Good catch!” She confessed. “But do you think, at least for now, we could learn to work together? I’d really like that. It’s taxing to be angry, and I’m kind of lazy that way, you see.”

He studied her hand for a time, and then glanced back up at her. Finally, he made a grab for her hand and shook it once. “Yer sleight o’ hand is good.” He admitted begrudgingly. “But it could be better.”

“I’m always up to learning more.” She said brightly. “If you’ll teach me, that is. Maybe I could show you a few things in return? I know a little about a lot and I haven’t exactly got any money to pay you for your time.”

His expression softened the slightest bit. “Aye… could… probably learn tae lie a li’l better. ‘Specially in the moment.”

“Of course! Happy to help!”

“We should be on our way now that the sun is higher.” Thorin’s comment broke through to everyone. He rose to take a boot to the fire. 

“Right.” Balin stood with him, and urged the others to gather their things. “Bombur, have ye dressed the warg, laddie?”

“Aye!” Bombur announced from his place away from the fire. “Butchered, too!”

“Good, good. Salted, I expect?”  
  
“Aye!”

“Wonderful.” Balin’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Headcount?” He called out to all of them, and every dwarf quickly hefted their packs onto their shoulders before queuing up. “Brother, of course… couldn’t miss you.” He chuckled as he patted Dwalin’s forearm. “Fili, Kili... Bofur… Bofur’s hat… Oin-”

“Eh?”

Balin cupped his hands around his mouth. “OIN!”

“STAHP YELLIN’, YE SOD! I GOT ME HORN!”

“ _OIN, IT’S A HEAD-_ ahh, nevermind.” Balin sighed as Oin scowled.  
  
“Who dyed their hair red?” Oin demanded of everyone around him. “Fili, blast it lad, were it you? Red ain’t yer color! Yer a winter, not an autumn! Bah, sometimes, it’s like nobody listens tae me at all! Balin, d’ye remember when Dwalin had tha’ odd blue beard?”

“You had a _blue_ beard?” Wren gave Dwalin an amused look, and he felt a rush of color rise to his cheeks.

“I was a lad. Everyone said blue brought out me eyes.” He explained with an awkward chuckle. “But I’m too old fer such decorations now. Foolish peacocking, it makes ye a target in battle.”

“It sounds sweet though. I think you’d look fine with a deep, blue beard.” 

“Ah, well… perhaps when I finally go full silver, I may.” He stroked his mustache pridefully. “If I make it through this business alive, that is.” He knew at once this was the wrong thing to say, as her face immediately fell. 

“You’re all fairly serious about this, aren’t you?” She replied sorrowfully, as if there were no hope at all. He couldn’t truly blame her; dwarves were strong, yes, but a dragon wasn’t something to be trifled with. She greatly desired to talk him out of it, he could see it in her eyes. “The idea of you… them… _anyone_ … dying, burning to death, or being scarfed whole like a morsel of sweetbread makes me feel ill. “Please, you can’t die or… or…” She snapped her head around with a fierce scowl. “I’ll find your body and give you a solid kick in the bollocks!”

“And that’d prompt me to haunt ya, lass.”

“Oh, I’m terrified.” She replied glibly. “Tell me, can a ghost-dwarf hammer as well as a living one? Because we could certainly use a blacksmith back home, it would save so much coin.”

He put an arm around her shoulders. “I won’t die.” He murmured.

“You’re damn right you won’t.” She rubbed hard at her eyes.  
  
Why was she tearing up? She shouldn’t be, not over him. He was a crochety, old warrior with more scars than sense. “None of us will.” He wanted to believe his own words, but frankly he knew it to be improbable. He did his best to produce a smile for her sake, and tugged a handkerchief from his pocket. “Don’t let Bilbo see this.” He said in a conspiratorial whisper. “He doesn’t know I have a stash.”  
  
“I would have thought the fact you have a moustache to be quite obvious.” 


	3. Bridge Over Troubled Waters

Wren and Dwalin spent much of the day conversing, Bilbo had noticed. He thought it rather charming how the two got on, and he quietly shared this opinion with Bofur and Balin. “Aye, it’s good to see ‘im openin’ up to someone at least.” Balin remarked, his tone soft. “It usually takes him quite a while.”

Bofur and Balin shared a brief, knowing look. “D’ye think-”

“Can’t be sure. Only time will tell.” But Balin’s eyes were twinkling. 

“Time will tell what? What can’t you be sure of?” Bilbo peeked over his shoulder at Dwalin and Wren, who were sharing wide grins for no reason he could discern.

“Oh lad, ‘tis a dwarf matter.” Balin touched his shoulder, and then again addressed Bofur. “It’s been done, you know. Once with elves in Moria, and then again in Dale with Men before Smaug. Not entirely common, but…”

“I think that’s precisely what we need tae liven up those dragon-stinkin’ halls up after all o’ this mess is through.” Bofur chewed at the end of his pipe with a good-natured smile making his cheeks dimple. “Should we add a touch o’ atmosphere, perhaps?”

“Ahh, no. I think it’s best to let it go along at its own pace. And we could be wrong, who knows?”

“Pardon me, but what on earth are you two speaking of?” Bilbo grew frustrated. “And don’t say it is a dwarf matter like I cannot possibly comprehend it.”

“Shhh, Bilbo.” Bofur grinned at him and tapped the end of his nose with his pipe. “Never mind us, we’re just two gossipin’ biddies. Ain’t nothin’ o’ too much importance, dahn’t worry yer curly head.”   
  
Bofur’s smirk was what gave him away, and after a quick few glances between Dwalin and Wren, and then Balin and Bofur, a few things clicked in his head. “Ah! Yes, I see now.” He fiddled with his waistcoat. These matters of the heart always had him flustered, not exactly a feeling he enjoyed. Friends was what Bilbo took joy in. Yes, good, reliable friends, that was all which was meant for him! But he was happy still, and it put a smile on his round face to see others enjoying themselves. 

“Bilbo, you’ll keep this ‘tween the three o’ us, aye?” Balin asked hopefully.

“Oh yes, of course. And we won’t be meddling, just so I understand it?”

“Exactly.” Bofur nodded decisively.

Not a moment later, Thorin turned around and halted. “Bofur, go inform the others we’ll be making camp.” He said solemnly, but as soon as the dwarf had gone, he frowned. “Balin, we can have no distractions.” His voice was held low and steady. “Our mission holds the priority.”

A grim look replaced Balin’s smile. “I’m sure my brother understands the importance of the quest.”

“Good, and it gladdens my heart you’re not overly encouraging it.” He murmured. “Perhaps after, but now is not the appropriate time. Dwalin is patient, I know this, but I wished to be certain.”

“We understand, Thorin.” Balin nodded, although the happy spark had dimmed at the light scolding.

“Thank you, my old friend.” He then turned to Bilbo. “As for you, Master Baggins, go keep your sēobeorn friend happy, and if things should become serious, I implore you to do whatever you must to interfere.”

“Thorin… are… you… are you asking what I believe you to be asking?” Bilbo couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“Only for now, Bilbo. Only for now.” Thorin held up his palms. “Who knows what desolation or troubles might yet be headed our way? It is kinder, if you consider it.” When Bilbo continued to stare up at him with uncertainty, he sighed heavily. “I am happy for them, but that happiness could more easily turn to grief than you know, my friend. For now, trust in my judgement.”

“Alright then, Thorin. I will trust you.” He said, and then scurried to the back of the procession. He arrived at Wren and Balin’s side right as Bofur did, who had been going down the line to briefly chat with each dwarf about their plans to make camp yet again.

“It’ll be yer warg fer dinner, Dwalin.” Bofur chortled. “I know we’ve been hurtin’ fer meat, but I would have preferred fish tae one o’ those beasts. An’ I ain’t too fond o’ fish!”

Bilbo wriggled his nose at the idea of consuming the vile thing. There was no way that its meat wouldn’t taste rancid. “I do hope Bombur is capable of making it palatable.”  
  
“Oh…joy…” Wren muttered. “I suppose this is revenge. It was terribly intent on eating one of us and now it looks like we’ll be eating it instead."

That night didn’t seem as terribly uncomfortable as the previous one had; the mist had lifted and the forest seemed to have partially given up on trapping their party. Wren borrowed Dwalin’s bedroll during his watch and appeared rather comfortable. Bilbo, upon seeing Thorin frowning at this development, decided to feign a chill in order to snuggle down with her. That seemed to ease the dwarf’s mind somewhat, although Bilbo wasn’t sure how _he_ felt about it.   
  
The next morning was a demoralizing day with only hints of sunshine. Rays of dappled light created weak patterns on the dismal, brown, rotted detritus that littered the ground. Fetid wafts of sweet and sour decay assailed their noses. This stretch of forest was a festering wound oozing its odious puss to perfume the air with a putrid stench. The deeper they went, the worse it became until Bilbo was forced to keep his hand over his nose and breathe through his mouth. Black birds peered down at them all, eagerly anticipating carrion. 

“Air.” Bofur waved his hand in front of his face. “I need _air._ ”

“It is oppressive here.” Wren, too, was gasping with her tunic pulled up over her nose. “It smells worse than rotting possum.”

“My head… it’s swimmin’.” Oin mumbled as he swayed with every step, and his brother was forced to steady him.

However, this was soon to change for a short time. The poisonous reek grew fainter and the detestable carrion birds left them in peace. Bilbo noticed and he saw Wren tracking their movements from branch to branch, although he wasn’t sure if anyone else did. The distinct lack of wildlife as they pressed on unnerved soon unnerved him more than those flesh-birds had.

“We found the bridge.” Kili announced from up ahead.

“BRIDGE!” Poor, half-delirious Bofur exclaimed in relief.

“Bof, I think ye need tae si’doon.” Nori pushed him down onto a rotted stump.

They came upon a bubbling stream and the reason for the lack of life suddenly became clear to everyone. Wren tried to approach the front, but Dwalin immediately whipped his arm out to the side in order to bar her from stepping any closer. “My father told me of this a few times. The water is polluted by evil magic and casts a sleeping spell over any living being who touches it. He took care to rarely go beyond it, but he’d come for the sake of the animals who were trapped by it.”

“Trapped? How can one be trapped by a stream?” Ori peered into the water even though it was too gunky to see to the bottom anyway. Dori quickly nabbed the back of his collar and yanked him away from the edge.

“Don’t!” She gestured to a boat moored at the edge of the crumbled bridge. “We’ll have to use the boat. My father keeps it here for desperate times when he must cross this evil stream. Its strength of magic is so strong that if you so much as touch anything dampened by the water, you will be taken victim by the spell. I don’t know how to counter it; in fact, I don’t think there is a way at all. Father always just dried the sleeping animals off and allowed the spell to fade with time. It was almost always hares… always so haughty and foolhardy.” She mused thoughtfully. “What’s worse is that you could lose large chunks of memory… possibly never to regain them, although I have no idea the extent of it.”  
  
And then there was a harsh cawing, which caused Wren to snap her head in the direction of a single, black-feathered bird perched in a nearby tree. Her body language became stiff, jerky, and abrupt like a spooked squirrel. A twitter left her lips, which was answered by a harsh, cackling caw… as though the thing were laughing at them. Her face went white, and then her cheeks reddened with the bloom of temper as she stormed up toward the trunk of the tree. She kicked it furiously, cawing and twittering and whistling like a madwoman until the strange bird flew off. “Yes! SHOO! FLY!” She screeched after it, waving her arms maniacally. “YOU WON’T BE MAKING A MEAL OF US, ASH-FEATHER! ”

“Can you understand the animals?” Bilbo followed her gaze nervously, not for the first time wondering if she’d lost her mind. He’d caught only glimpses of animals; mostly black-furred squirrels and birds like cross-breeds of vultures and crows, similar to the one she’d chased off. Neither of those examples of wildlife had seemed overly friendly, nor did they appear to be of truly natural origin. 

“Only a little here and there. It’s not like any of the beast languages I am familiar with.” Her eyes darted about with deepening suspicion. “The animals in this part of the forest don’t speak… well, they do, but it’s _wrong…_ they sound...” She struggled to explain it properly. “They want us to… to hurt…” She shook her head and a violent shudder wracked her from head to foot.   
  
“And what was that you called it?”

“Ash-feather.” She gnawed anxiously at her lower lip. “My father told me a story once… an awful story of how an evil too great to name took the beasts of Middle-Earth because he could not create life of his own. He stole crows for their cunning, vultures for their lust for flesh, and bats for the want of the dark and damp, and then by dark sorcery and a sprinkle of ash created tortured creatures of the air. Their only desire ever afterward echoed his; the need to consume and the all-encompassing desire to spread suffering and disease.”  
  
He tried hard to ignore the implications of her remarks about the birds and turned his mind to lighter things. “D-did you teach yourself to speak with the animals?” Bilbo chuckled as he imagined Beorn in a pair of reading glasses and reading from a book to a younger, more excitable Wren. With all of her energy, it must have been difficult to keep her still for the lessons. 

“Mostly I learned it from my father, although he is not at all patient and is honestly a terrible teacher. The rest I was forced to learn on my own, and I must warn you I am nowhere near as good with beastspeech as he is. Many people would be able to master even a little of it, I’m sure, if they took the time to pay attention.`` She gave him a rather saddened look. “Unfortunately, many people don’t care to do so. I suppose that’s understandable. It’s much harder to excuse yourself from killing the deer if you can’t understand how hard it is begging you to spare it.”

“I… I think I’d rather not know what the deer or fish or rabbit is saying.” Ori stammered from just beside her. “Now that I think of it, the idea gives me the willies. Knowing that, I would have thought Mister Beorn would refrain from eating any animals.”.

“It’s nature, though, and it is necessary. The animals we take into our bodies live on within us and we honor them by making use of everything.” 

“Speaking of eating,” Bombur interjected, “I do believe it is getting to be lunchtime. Perhaps we should pause for a snack to boost our strength before we attempt to cross.”

“Aye, but make it quick. We must keep pace.” Thorin leaned against the mossy bridge and thrust a hand into a pouch at his side. He came out with a handful of biscuits, but his gaze was locked onto the little boat. There was little doubt in Bilbo’s mind what the dwarf was contemplating because Thorin was as single-minded as they came.  
  
Wren rummaged in her own teeny pack. “I have a couple apples I can share, if anyone would like a slice or two.”

“May I?” Ori asked, quite politely.

“Certainly. Oh, and would you like to see something neat?” She asked of Bilbo, who was happy for the distraction. “It’s a trick Father taught me, it’s simple and requires only a little pressure in the right place, but works well to give the illusion of strength.” She popped the stem from the fruit, placed her thumbs on the bottom and the top, and twisted sharply as she pulled her hands swiftly apart. The apple crunched loudly and she held up the two neat halves for his inspection.

“Oh, delightful.” He remarked. “Could I try with the next one?” He was already thinking he might be able to entertain some of the younger Hobbits he knew with this.

She happily handed him the second, whole apple for him to work upon, and then handed over the halved apples to Dwalin. Wren took a slice to Thorin herself, which caught Bilbo’s interest and so he slipped away from the crowd to observe them. Noiselessly, he sat down on a root behind a large, broken block from the destroyed bridge to listen in. Thorin had been making odd choices much more frequently as time went on and, after the conversation earlier, he wasn’t sure what Thorin might say to Wren in private when given such a chance.  
  
“Here you are, sir.” Wren handed him the bit of fruit. “It isn’t much, but that’s all I have.”

“Oh?” There was a hint of jest in Thorin’s voice. “Should I believe the word of a liar, then? How do I know you don’t have at least seven more of these apples hidden up your sleeves, eh?”  
  
“Well, you don’t.” She shrugged playfully. “But _if_ I did have more, then it would be wise not to announce that, wouldn’t it? _If_ I had more, the people around me might coincidentally grow hungrier. I think it’s much more fortunate to have less than more in that situation, wouldn’t you say?”

“I think that could indeed be the case.” There was laughter shimmering in his eyes.

Wren shared a secretive smirk with him, and then cocked her head. “Oh dear, Thorin. Is that… that wouldn’t be a hair out of place, would it? Here, let me help you. I can plait a bit-” She reached over to comb her fingers through his locks, and when she pulled her hand back, there was an apple in her palm. “My, would you look at that? It must have been uncomfortable to have this stuck there.”

That finally got her a chuckle, albeit a quiet one. “I had been wondering about that crick in my neck.” 

She neatly twisted the apple in half, handing one half of the fruit to him. “If you do actually have a knot there, I could help with that.” She offered kindly. “I learned a few basic message techniques from a healer a few years ago.”

“The gesture is appreciated, but there isn’t a need.” But he was smiling at her now. Bilbo was suddenly reminded he couldn’t be entirely sure of the last time he’d seen such a genuine smile come from any of the company… himself included. “How do you know all these things?”

“You’d be surprised what people are willing to trade for good food and shelter. Why do you think my father was not more upset to find surprise guests in his home?” She grinned. “I enjoy learning, it’s a much more engaging passtime than shoveling horse apples. Sadly, most of my skills are superficial.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’ve already mentioned I know a little about a lot, but I’m afraid I know a lot about very little, if you catch my meaning. Thankfully, I’m skilled in the grand art of bullshit.” The two of them shared another round of laughter, which petered out into gentle, light conversation.

“What all do you know of dwarves, exactly?”

“Thorin, when you are playing at cards, do you often ask your opponents to flash you theirs?”

“Hm, fair enough. Keep your secrets then. You’d likely lie about it all anyway.”

“Oh, I certainly would. You’re learning too much of me, sir. I may have to change up my tactics.”

“Perhaps. That was a clever trick you pulled the other night.”

“The turtle?” She asked innocently, but Bilbo got the distinct feeling she knew exactly what Thorin was speaking of.  
  
“With Nori. My advice is that you learn to wrangle that temper of yours, and you could be great.”

“What a lovely backhanded compliment, sir. I’ll take it with a grain of salt, may I have some of yours? Surely a salty person such as yourself has plenty to spare.”

Bilbo was struck by an arrow of fear at the audacity, but Thorin simply snorted. “I am not salty.” 

“Alright, whatever you say, but _I_ say if someone dunked you in a freshwater river, the water would thereafter be brackish.”

“Trading barbs with you is about as dangerous as stepping onto an archery field.” Thorin crossed his arms over his shoulders. “The grindstone you honed your tongue upon must have been legendary.”

“Everything I am, I owe to my father.” Her voice was now heavily weighted with emotion. “If not for him, I wouldn’t have survived beyond my first few days in this world. I love him dearly.”

“You miss him.”

“To my bones, I do. And please don’t take this all the wrong way, but I’ve never felt safer than when I was still with him.” 

“We will return you to your father as soon as is feasible.” He laid a heavy, thick-fingered hand on her shoulder. “I cannot blame you for feeling unsafe, there are none of us who do in this accursed forest. What I can do is promise you my own protection, and that of my kin, until such a time as your journey with us has ended. Once my seat in the mountain is secured, I’ll happily repay your father with your weight in gold for both his hospitality and for unintentionally borrowing you for much longer than was agreed.”

“The only gold my father would desire would be golden, fresh honey.” You smiled. “And perhaps if you agreed to give us a few fine, tall stacks of firewood, he would appreciate it. Or maybe a few tools of famous Dwarven quality. Simple, useful things for simple, useful people, you understand.

“Aye then, and the aid of every dwarf in Erebor henceforth, if he may ever have need of it.”

“Thank you, Thorin. You strike me as a fine person. I can’t say I agree with you in continuing to pursue this quest, but I truly, _truly_ hope you succeed. I’m beginning to count you all as friends, if that’s not too bold.”

“Never too bold. There is no such thing as too many friends.” He let his hand drop from his shoulder. “But I’m afraid we must continue speaking another time, everyone seems to have finished their food and we can’t waste daylight.”

That had gone much better than Bilbo had anticipated. He felt rather silly to have worried about it, but was happy to be wrong. He kept still in his quiet spot however, so that he could be away from the commotion as Thorin began sorting the others into pairs in preparation to cross. First to go were Thorin and Dwalin, with the latter agreeing to row the others dutifully back and forth across the stream. Eventually, only Bombur was remaining on the other side of the bank. All was going relatively well, although Dwalin was grunting a bit with every pull of the paddle.

Suddenly, an ethereal, white deer came dashing down the path and leaped over the stream. Its back hooves caught the edge of the little wooden boat, causing it to dip dangerously down. Bombur, who’d tried to avoid being hit in the face by said hooves, ended up rolling right out of the boat. He splashed face-first into the stream, and this would have been a disheartening thing by itself, but he also managed to make a huge wave with his fall.   
  
A great deal of water was flung high in the air toward the other side of the bank and a bit into the boat itself. Wren was unfortunately standing too close to the edge, and the second the water touched her skin she dropped like a rock. For a moment, no one said anything and then Dwalin shouted a curse. His hands were protected by thick, leather workman’s gloves and boots, which kept him from directly coming into contact with the wretched stuff. As soon as he’d dragged the hefty dwarf into the boat, he determinedly rowed them the rest of the way. From there, Bofur stepped in to assist in heaving his brother out to be laid upon the ground.

“Well, isn’t this a pickle?” Bilbo murmured to himself. “Two of our number unconscious and we’re not even more than halfway through the day!”   
  
“Wring out their clothes as best you can. Don’t let a drop of that water touch your skin.” Thorin ordered. “We’ll need to carry them. We’ll take shifts with each.” He hoisted Bombur’s legs onto his shoulders. Bofur volunteered to support Bombur’s middle, and Bifur grabbed his arms. Even with his weight divided between the three of them, it would be rough going. “When evening comes, we’ll try to dry them out properly. Until then, forward!”

Fili gathered Wren up like she was made of fluff and grinned back at his laboring companions. “Don’t worry, it’ll only be an hour or two until we switch.” He tossed her up and caught her again to tease them. “Until then, try not to get jealous!”

Thorin growled as he rolled his shoulders. “It won’t be quite so hilarious when your turn comes, Fee.”

Fili only chortled and went on his merry way. When he did finally have to pass Wren over to Thorin, he grunted under Bombur’s bulk and Thorin simply smirked at him. However, the burden of toting along their companions, hefty or not, eventually wore all of them down. Dori, Nori, and Ori plopped Bombur unceremoniously down in the middle of the worn, dirt path. There he continued to sleep, slack-jawed and snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

Bofur took care to prop Wren against the roots of a rather massive tree. The small fire they started wasn’t enough to be much help in drying out their sodden companions. In all truth, it was barely capable of properly warming their hands in the chill of the dank forest.  
  
Watches were claimed, but none of them were able to sleep and it certainly wasn’t because of the musty, rocky ground or the pathetic fire. “I sense a stirring.” Thorin murmured. His eyes darted around as he tried to catch the shadows that moved in his peripheral vision. “There is a change in the air.”

“Sorry, that’d be me.” Dori shifted uncomfortably.

Nori slugged him harshly in the arm. “Not you, ye nasty bugger.”  
  
“There!” Dwalin pointed into the thicket where a great collection of lights were shining. They were cozy and bright to behold from afar. They’d witnessed those mirthful, dancing flames many times along their trek, but they’d never deemed it an intelligent idea to investigate them. “What d’ye s’pose tha’ is?” He got up and crept a bit closer. He had to push a large bramble out of the way to get a decent look. “Elves!” He exclaimed and he was immediately shushed by the others.

“What are they doing?” Bilbo wrung his hands worriedly. “Beorn warned us! He said they’re nothing like the ones in Rivendell…”

“Whatever they’re doing, maybe they’ll lead us out o’ this wretched place. C’mon!” Dwalin led the others in a rush. Just as they stepped foot inside the clearing, every light was snuffed out and they were left to fumble in the darkness.

“OUCH! Watch where you’re going, leadfoot!” Dori cried out to someone.

“Bilbo? Is that you?” Bofur shuffled around in confusion.

“No, you lout, you’ve got hold of my beard!” Balin replied irritably.

“Quiet, everyone!” Thorin’s authoritative bellow shut them all up. “We have to find those Elves. There’s another bonfire over there, do you all see it?” There was a murmur of affirmation from the rest of them. “Alright! That way!” Brambles clutched at their clothes and damp dirt caked on their boots. Their steps were heavy with mud and exhaustion. No one seemed to remember that they’d left Bombur and Wren alone on the path.

Again, the Elves evaded them and they were plunged back into darkness just as they reached the edge of the light. The third time, Bilbo heard only distant curses and shouts. Somehow, he’d gone and gotten separated far from Thorin and company. He closed his eyes and sighed; he was beyond tired. He was beyond exhaustion. His eyelids were drifting shut and his back slid down the tree he was leaning against. He was asleep before his bottom hit the forest floor...

He awoke the next morning to a hideous surprise. Skuttles and clicks met his ears, but he was bound and his eyes were stuck shut. He had to force them open to find his vision was partially obscured by a transparent shroud of some type of fabric. The same curious fabric was what kept his arms and legs secured together. Suddenly, the skittering grew closer and he was face to face with a monster he’d only ever thought belonged in nightmares and ancient tales.  
  
A giant spider thrice his size was peering down at him with glistening fangs. He slid his Elven blade up out of its sheath with his fingertips, so as not to alarm the spider looming over him. Waiting until it drew closer to tap at him with its pedipalps, he chose that moment to strike swift and true. It let out a terrible screech and in its haste to wrench itself away, the great spider threw itself from the branch only to fall to its death. Without much hesitation, he took refuge behind the trunk of a tree to slip on his magic ring.   
“ _Feast!_ _Feast!_ ” Several of the grotesque web-weavers screeched. They poked and prodded at their entrapped prizes. “ _Tough hides, but there’s good juice inside._ ” They scurried along their strands like tight-rope walkers, but they were not so delicate. Their bodies reminded him of engorged ticks and cobwebs hung like hag’s hair from their faces. He wondered why he’d not heard them talk before, but dismissed it. He didn’t have time for ponderings; he needed a distraction!

He picked up a heavy stick and threw it as hard as he could through the mess of shaggy silk. His heroic intentions, however, were bungled as a greedier spider lingered behind. Bilbo was a mess of nerves, although one wouldn’t have known it if one had witnessed him battle it out with that loathsome arachnid. He ended it swiftly with a thrust between its many pairs of eyes. “ _It stings! Stings!_ ” It cried as it fell through webbed awnings and landed with a sickening, wet thud on the forest floor.

The adrenaline high of battle thrummed through his body. He laughed quietly to himself, despite his situation, and turned his weapon over in his hands. The blade was still wet with the creature’s sickly green hemolymph, and its slicked edge played refractory games with the low light in the upper canopy. Sting… yes, that was a good name. “I will call you Sting.”

His newly christened weapon did wonders in slicing through the dirty-gray and sticky silk. The one the greedy spider had paused over happened to be Bombur. Bilbo, with a jolt of realization, knew this meant that the spiders had dared to venture onto the elven path. These evil things were, it seemed, no longer deterred by the latent magic in elven-contrived creations. The digestion of that tidbit settled as poorly in his stomach as would an over-indulgent serving of fatback. 

He counted the tangled sacks of spider floss and came to the conclusion that every dwarf, as well as their human tag-along, was accounted for. He then began to cut the sacks down one by one. Their landing, fortunately, was cushioned greatly by the amount of dirty webs draping over the sickly, gnarled branches of the surrounding trees.   
  
Bilbo freed Wren last and found her terrified, yet still groggy. “Who… who are you?! Where am I? Where’s my father?!”   
  
“Oh bother, the river spell… Okay, look here. My name is Bilbo, and I’m a friend of Beorn’s. Shh, I’m here to save you. It’s alright now.” He hushed her, then warned her to keep her body free of tension in preparation for the fall. He brushed the filaments as well as he could out of her face. “Trust me.” She nodded weakly to give her permission, and then he cut the cord supporting her sack.

She fell, but to his dismay she automatically flinched, leading her to hit several branches on her way down. When she finally hit the dirt, she did so face-down with her right arm bent under her body. She let out a strangled scream, which faded to whimpers as she lay there clutching her broken arm in absolute agony. Tears streaked the mud on her face, but the pain probably would have been worse if the river spell had fully faded.   
  
Splinters were embedded in her flesh in several places. He knew this because he could see them poking through her clothing. Some were as thin as toothpicks, but others were nearly as thick as his pinky. She wasn’t moving much, besides cradling her arm and sobbing, and he felt a passing guilt at having caused her poor situation.   
  
He clambered down, and his hairy, thick-soled feet had barely touched the mossy ground before a commotion arose all around him. His eyes went wide as saucers when he saw a band of ethereal beings emerging from the cover of the woods. On instinct, he slipped the ring back onto his finger before he was spotted.   
  
Thin as willow wands, with hair that fell like rivers of ebony, lava, and gold to their waists; these were the elves he’d heard of mainly in fairy tales and children’s fictions. They glowed, to his awe, as they moved forward in tight formation. Their bows were strung, but not drawn, and he noticed that their raiment matched the forest utterly. Though they had a preternatural stealth, it seemed that they were not above using camouflage to their advantage.

“State your business.” One commanded.

“Our business is not yours.” Thorin snarled in reply. “Begone! Leave us to our troubles and we’ll leave you to yours.”

The elf who had addressed Thorin smirked coldly. “Dwarves… always so quick to anger. We’ll leave you in peace, surely, but you must answer us truthfully.”

“We’re simple travelers.” Balin interrupted Thorin before the king could talk them into further trouble. “We’re on our way to visit our kin in the Iron Hills.”

The elf raised an eyebrow and nudged Wren with the toe of his boot. “This is a human woman.” He leveled his gaze with Balin. “Dwarves do not allow anyone who is not a dwarf into their strongholds.”

“Do not tell us our own ways, _elf._ ” Thorin unwisely made a point of placing himself between the offender and Wren. “That human is my responsibility. Why she is with us is no concern of yours, nor do we need to explain ourselves to you.”

Silver-gray eyes studied him as the elf tucked his hands confidently behind his back. “Until you see fit to enlighten us-” He snapped a finger and his fellows stepped forward with rope in their hands. “-bind them.”

There wasn’t much of a struggle. The dwarves were weakened by venom and could barely hold their own weapons in defense of their freedom. Wren was limp, and had to be hoisted from the ground by one of the elves. The others were bound and marched along with an elven guard assigned to each one. 

Bilbo followed in secret and at a short distance. They led him, unknowingly, to the very gates of their kingdom. He darted inside only seconds before the doors were shut behind the last of the elven guards. Before him lay the largest elven settlement in Middle-Earth, though he didn’t know it. He was forced to utilize every ounce of stealth he possessed to avoid alerting his friends’ captors.

The walk to the throne room was quite direct, though there were many hallways that branched off from the main hall. The dwarves were led into a grand room so large it seemed to lack a true ceiling. Candles atop tall, wrought-iron candelabras lit the walkway leading up to the imposing throne. The elf seated on it rose with their appearance.   
  
Platinum hair framed sapphire eyes, which regarded them all with intense interest. “And who are these vagabonds you’ve presented to me, Haradion?” The king tilted his head in inquiry, the autumn leaves woven into his crown made to rustle with the motion.

The commanding elf, now known to all as Haradion, knelt. “My lord, they are trespassers. They refuse to admit their intentions, so I’ve brought them to you for judgement and further interrogation.”

Bilbo soon found himself inwardly cursing dwarven stubbornness. Clearly, Thorin had no intention of making their intentions known. He and the others refused to open their mouths to speak even a word of explanation or even a rebuttal. “Take them to the dungeons. They will speak or they will spend their lives there. A hundred years is a blink in the lifespan of an elf.” The Elvenking dismissed them with a cruel wave of his hand.

“My lord Thranduil, one of them is wounded.” Haradion informed his monarch urgently. “What would you have us do?” The elves parted to place Wren at his feet as evidence.

“Treat her.” The king replied carelessly. “We can’t glean information from a dead prisoner.” His subordinates rushed to fulfill his orders, but then he raised a hand. “Wait.”

“My lord?”

“Keep her separate. Humans are weaker than dwarves, she may break sooner without the support of the others.”

Haradion bowed and the elf carrying Wren wasted no time in breaking away from the group to heed his king’s orders. Dwalin, though he was weak and dazed, made to run after them, but he was easily stopped and forced to comply. The dwarf hurled insults in Khuzdul at his jailors the entire way to the cells. His brother made multiple attempts to shush him, but he was having none of it. The moment they were chucked into their cells, he tried his damnedest to bend the bars open. Bilbo guessed he might have succeeded if it weren’t for the strengthening spells laid on the metal.

Meanwhile, the hobbit stood silently watching as the other dwarves followed Dwalin’s lead. They bashed their shoulders against every inch of their cells in an effort to find weaknesses to exploit. Most would have kept at it, too, he figured, until one or all of them passed out from sheer exhaustion.  
  
Balin was the first to see reason, as per usual. “Stop! Stop, there’s no getting out of here.” He slumped down against the wall. “Thorin, we need to strike a deal.”

“That elf can go _îsh kakhfê ai’d dur-rugnu_ , him and all his kin!” Thorin’s eyes flashed in wrath. “I will not bargain with elf cowards. I’d rather rot.”

“We’ll all be rotting, then.” Balin sighed in resignation. “A deal was our only hope.”

“No, not our only hope. There’s still the burglar. Hopefully, he’ll free us before the girl confesses to Thranduil.” Thorin paced his cell like a caged wolf. 

“You don’t think Wren would sell us out, uncle?” Kili asked.

“What do you think?” Thorin gripped his bars. “I’d prefer not to place my full trust in a farm girl with a questionable relationship with the truth if I had any other choice.”

“We don’t have many other choices, Thorin.” Balin reminded him. “I hope the poor girl’s alright. That was an awful tumble she took.”  
  
At this, Thorin went quiet for a moment. “As do I, Balin.” Thorin growled through gritted teeth. “The elves had best do well by her. I made an oath and if they force my hand in breaking it, I will burn this wood to ash and see their leader _imrid amrâ ursul!_ ”

Bilbo chose not to reveal himself to the company. He reasoned it was best not to get up their hopes and, if they were tortured, to avoid giving their jailors information. He exited the dungeons right behind the feet of the guards and took note of where the keys were kept. A row of nails with numerous rings of keys was lined up on the wall outside the dungeons. They were entirely identical, but the third nail from the right was empty. He watched one of the guards replace the keys and considered waiting until they were out of sight to snatch them, but he stopped himself.

He still didn’t know where they were keeping Wren. He followed the guards with only a vague idea of their destination gleaned from clues in their conversation. As luck would have it, the group he chose to shadow was discussing the need to feed and give water to the prisoners, and that should lead him straight to wherever they were keeping her. 

The elves retrieved simple meals of bread, cheese, and thin beer. Several of the group retraced their steps back the way they’d come, but one took a completely different route. He guessed this was the elf who would serve Wren and crept behind him with careful steps. This path was warmer, somehow. Perhaps it was the greater abundance of candles cloistered into lighting nooks along the carven hall or, maybe, it was the fact that there were a number of open rooms with cozy beds. In any case, Wren’s room was at the end of the hall, which turned out to be a healer’s ward. She was still bound, but only at the wrists, and her clothes had been cut open for the healer’s convenience.

“ _She’ll be ready to take down to the secondary dungeon after tonight_.” The healer, who was still picking splinters from her skin, told the guard without looking up from his work. Bilbo almost let out a squeak of surprise for, though he knew the words coming from their mouths were foreign to him, he could clearly understand them! It was just as it had been with the spiders and he wondered if his magic ring gifted him with many more abilities than he’d initially thought.

“ _Take your time_ ,” The guard answered and placed the food on a nearby table. “ _I merely came to deliver her rations_ .” He swallowed hard and winced at the metal plate laden with bloody bits of wood and tree bark. The healer noticed his unease and frowned. “ _I believe he fell out of a tree_.”

“ _Clumsy, witless human_.” The insult lacked all vitriol; however, as the elf’s fair face was surely turning a bit green.

“ _Get yourself together, Alassien.”_ The healer retorted sharply. “ _Your commander won’t think much of you if he catches you losing your lembas over a handful of splinters and a snapped bone_ . _You still want that promotion, do you not_ ?” The healer continued to prod and poke the young Mannish woman. “ _There, I think I’ve got them all. Now that those are out of the way I can get down to setting the bone_ .” He lifted his eyes to meet Alassien’s. “ _You’ll want to go for this part_.” He retrieved a pair of pieces of woolen fluff from a small container.

“ _What are those for_?” The guard hesitated at the door.

“ _To block out the screams_.” The healer’s response was chillingly casual and frank. He motioned toward the door and Alassien all but ran from the room. The healer chuckled to himself, rolling his eyes.

Bilbo sympathized with Alassien because he also felt faint. He observed the healer plucking a familiar pouch of dried willow bark, but the other ingredients of the concoction were foreign to him. The elf then added a spoonful of honey to sweeten the medicine, watered it down, and mixed it all thoroughly. Once finished, he tipped the bowl and slowly dribbled his concoction down her throat while muttering elvish incantations.

Wren spluttered, but all the pained tension left her. It was strange, he thought, to watch another person while they were so vulnerable and exposed… almost as if his viewing were a violation of some sort. He averted his eyes to the floor, but his attention was promptly regained when he heard grunting. The elf had to extend her arm to stretch the muscles, so he had her wrist pinned to the bed with one hand while the other massaged the entire length up to her shoulder. When this was done, he made a quick motion and there came an audible, grinding snap that turned Bilbo’s stomach.

“ _Alright, now stay_.” He moved away from her bedside to grab two metal rods and a measure of cord. He held the rods in place and wrapped them tightly with the cord to brace her arm. When he was done, he smiled with pride at his work. “Look at you.” He said this in Westron. “Humans shouldn’t be going about in trees, you ridiculous child.” He said this in a mothering, amused tone of voice. “You’re lucky you weren’t spiked right up your-“

“ _Has she awoken_?” Thranduil’s voice in Sindarin reminded Bilbo of the sound of a shallow brook bubbling and rushing over itself. It was a great improvement over his Westron, which was more like cream spilled over crushed glass.

“ _Not yet and she won’t for a good long time. She needs to stay here for the night for observation and then I will call for her to be taken to a cell._ ”

“ _Yes, so Alassien told me._ ” Thranduil stared down pensively at the young woman. “ _The dwarves claimed she was travelling with them to the Iron Hills. I know the ways of dwarves, some would say I know them better than most, and she bears no_ kidizbâha _mark I can see._ ”

“ _Perhaps she was on her way to be marked_?” 

“ _Doubtful. I must be patient, I suppose. When this girl regains her capacity to do more than drool on her pillow, I intend to speak with her. She should prove to be a font of information._ ” 

Bilbo wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. Thranduil hadn’t harmed anyone yet, but there was an undeniable allusion to suffering in his words that made the hobbit rather queasy. Honestly, this entire affair was enough to send him into an apoplectic fit! Now he’d have to sequester himself in this room until an unspecified time tomorrow morning to find out where they intended to keep her. Not only that, but he had no idea if she’d even be capable of escaping with everyone else in her condition. She clearly wasn’t able to at the moment, seeing how she was so drugged up that setting her arm hadn’t made her so much as whimper. _What a fine mess this is_ , he thought peevishly as he settled himself into a corner.

He waited there for hours, but she hadn’t so much as lifted an eyelid through the night and remained sound asleep well into the next morning. She was still removed from the healer’s ward and delivered into her personal cell. Bilbo, sporting tender bags under his eyes, dutifully followed along. He’d exhaustively memorized and organized details of the directions in his mind and found it to be of great fortune he had such a directionally gifted head on his shoulders. Thranduil’s halls should have been renamed Thranduil’s Maze because that was surely what it was! Sometimes, walkways were made of arched stone and other times they were cleverly carved from the massive system of tree roots. Most hallways looked the same, even if the rooms they led into were decidedly different, and it was terribly hard to find one’s way underground in irritatingly dim lighting.

These were the odd ponderings that crossed the mind of an underfed, exhausted, entirely underrated hobbit. He was of half a mind to give Thorin a tongue-lashing if he were to ever make it out of these Valar-forsaken tunnels! However, a plan was already brewing up in his curly head. He could put it into immediate action, but Wren was still in such a pitiable state that he dare not. Instead, he opted to wait for a more opportune time. He would look back on this decision in future days and would be fairly glad he’d done exactly that.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, I've done a good bit of research on Old English, and combed the dictionaries of the marvelous Dwarrow Scholar, and even used such resources as Arwen-Undomiel.com. I can't promise everything will be accurate, as I, like anyone, am prone to mistakes. Please, feel free to have a laugh over my ignorance! XD I haven't been active in the LotR/Hobbit fandom since I was a teeny-bopper.
> 
> That being said, I was cleaning out my Drive, and I found this story. I figured you all might enjoy it, so here it is! This is just one of quite a few stories I wrote which I'd utterly forgotten about, yet now totally intend to edit and post for all of you to read.


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